MV Pasha Bulker grounded on Nobby's Beach, near Newcastle (Australia): photo by Web107, 2007
Then came a change.
When my elders named some object, and accordingly moved towards something, I saw this and vaguely grasped that that the thing was called by the sound they uttered when they meant to point it out.
I glimpse myself in baby photos, attending curiously to such sounds, pensive, ignorantly wondering.
It all comes back to me now.
Adrift in my wordless sea, I was trying to read their minds, as if feeling for the ground.
What did they mean, when they uttered these strange sounds?
Their intention was shown by their bodily movements: the expression of their faces, the play of their eyes, the movement of other parts of their bodies, and, especially, the tones of their voices; which, I dimly now perceived, expressed their states of mind in seeking, having, or rejecting something.
It was then I began to have a feeling for the ground. I walked a great deal, mostly alone, perhaps mostly on a hill, or then again it may have been a small mountain. Certainly it seemed solid enough.
As the scenery passed by, I could now put words to it; there was a sense of dwarf mastery in this; the achievements of the mind have their own satisfactions. However minor, however transitory.
But before very much more time had passed, I realized I retained a powerful longing for the open sea from which I had come.
This feeling of longing has remained with me to this day.
Glaucous gull (Larus hyperboreus): photo by Alastair Rae. 2005